


Pride in Marriage

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Arranged Marriage, Caning, Dom/sub, F/M, Female Reader, Glove Kink, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Present Tense, Punishment, Reader-Insert, Self-Indulgent, Spanking, Submissive Character, misuse of swagger sticks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: You have to marry Allegiant General Pryde, and aren't too excited about this prospect. But the wedding night turns into more than you expected, maybe more than you can handle. You're totally into it, though.
Relationships: Enric Pryde/Reader
Kudos: 9
Collections: Anonymous





	Pride in Marriage

You collapse onto your marital bed in a heap of frilly white skirts. The tedious ceremony was finally over. You no longer had to glare sidelong at your parents, and watch as they turned their faces away. This match would benefit your family, strengthen its political influence. But it brought you no joy. Allegiant General Enric Pryde was old enough to be your father, and his stern face had probably never even smiled once.

You’d pled exhaustion and fled the reception alone, escaping to the bridal chamber. Your husband would make nice with the guests, shake the right hands, say the right things. And then he’d come for you. You shiver. You’ll have to fake arousal. Perform for him.

You never had time for casual sex at Academy, preferring to spend the scant time you didn’t have to study watching trashy holodramas and playing card games with friends. Which was just as well. You knew that any romantic attachment you formed then might have to be broken. But the thought of remaining a virgin into your mid-twenties filled you with shame and dread. Or maybe your husband would enjoy that. He certainly seemed old-fashioned enough.

_ I should pretend that I want him,  _ you think.  _ But I’m not wet.  _ The door is closed, and the wedding party is far away. You lift up your skirts, pull down your panties, shut your eyes, and start rubbing one out. This you know how to do quietly and efficiently from years of communal living. You pinch your outer folds, plunge a couple of fingers into your hole, then rub the light film of wetness over your clit. You are slightly arching your back off the mattress to meet your tiring hand, in spite of yourself.

_ I need to imagine something,  _ you think. You wonder what your husband will be like in bed. 

_ Here. Let me do this for you, wife.  _ He’ll part your legs, inspect your pussy, then rub you off with his larger fingers. Maybe if you beg for it, he’ll eat you out, and if you close your eyes you can imagine the faceless younger officer of your choice.

Just as you are nearing climax, the door slams and bootheels click on the floor. Your eyes flash open. Allegiant General Pryde is there, swagger stick under his arm, looking more displeased with you than usual. Your cheeks burn, and you yank the skirts down. That does nothing to conceal the panties looped around one ankle.

He marches over to you. “Impatient?”

You whimper. Perhaps this will be a good sign; he’ll think you lusted after him. But that is not to be.

“You touched yourself alone, without permission.”

“I---I d-don’t need permission.” Your voice squeaks.

He smiles grimly. “You didn’t before. But now, as my wife, you do. Your pleasure is mine. You didn’t wait for me, so you will be punished.”

He lifts your chin with his swagger stick, cool wood on hot skin. “Off with that ridiculous gown.”

“I didn’t pick it out,” you mutter, fingers fumbling with the clasp in the back. The damnable garment has buttons down there too. After nearly dislocating your shoulder, Pryde comes to your aid, unfastening the catch and unbuttoning, gliding gloved hands down to the small of your back.

You melt beneath his touch. The gesture makes you feel smaller. Owned. Safe. The last one is an illusion, you tell yourself. This is your wedding night. To a husband you didn't choose and barely know. You peel the dress off and let it crumple to the floor. Pryde coughs and purses his lips. You turn around and find a clothes hanger, and hang it up. Your flesh is goosepimpling as you stand before him in nothing but a brassiere. 

“That too,” he says, and you bite your lip and remove it, placing it beside your panties on top of the dresser. 

Pryde sits down on the room’s one chair, making no move to undress. He pats his lap. “Here. Over my knee.”

“What?!” You have an idea of what he means, but that doesn’t prevent it from coming as a shock. He is going to spank you like a child. 

“For your insolence of self-pleasuring without my permission, you will receive ten strokes of the cane. It should be more, but as it is your wedding night I will be lenient this time.”

You gulp, and fold yourself over his knee. You tremble in spite of yourself. He places one leather-clad hand on the small of your back to steady you, and briskly rubs your arse. The fabric of his trousers chafes against your sensitive flesh. Then, it comes down. His stupid swagger stick cracks you against both cheeks. 

“Count,” he commands.

“O-one!”, you cry. After the first stroke, he rubs the welt as it forms, petting you.

By the fifth stroke, you are sobbing outright. You have experienced worse pain than this before. But it was never in such a humiliating fashion. He strokes your hair, the nape of your neck, your back.

“It’s halfway over, sweetheart. Do you need a break?”

You shake your head, tears falling to the floor.

“I think you need a break.” He gathers you up so you are now seated on his lap and embraces you as you sniffle into his shoulder. The worst part of this is that your cunt is violently convulsing and oozing slick; your nipples are hardening into two points. You shouldn’t be enjoying this. But you are. 

You half-expected Pryde to jump on you and die of a heart attack after climax like the dried-up old Imperial you thought he’d be. This is worse. And better. Your fears for the days to come melt away in the heat of the pain on your bottom.

“Are you ready for the rest?”

You nod. You feel so empty, so needy. You need to feel something, and the crack of a swagger stick is as good as anything else.

He settles you over his knee again, frowning. “I do not wish to be too harsh with you for your first offence. I will give you the rest of the strokes by hand.”

His gloved hand smacks you over the little net of pain-lines from the stick, then caresses. Your skin prickles.

“Six,” you whisper. By the time the count reached ten, you’re already looking behind and bracing yourself for another blow, disappointed when it doesn’t land. 

He chuckles. Then looks down at his trouser legs with a smirk. “I think you take some pleasure in punishment.” There is a circle of wetness on the fabric that your cunt had briefly brushed. “Ah well, you were punished for your transgressions. And I meant to claim you on this night.” His fingers creep down inside you, brushing your clit and teasing at your entrance.

“Stars, you’re wide open and just  _ dripping  _ for me.”

You twitch and gasp.

With one hand, he rubs your flaming buttocks, and with the other he roughly finger-fucks you, two pistoning fingers inside that occasionally pause from their work to glaze your clit with slick. It doesn’t take much time to have you screaming as you come. The scream sounds more like a dying bantha than a cry of passion, and you are mortified.

He feeds the wet leather of his fingers into your mouth, and you lick them clean, tasting your own salty musk on the bitter polished surface of the glove.

He smiles, and rights you, helping you down onto the bed. The sheets are soft and warm, but your arse still stings. You roll to your side. 

Pryde is undressing, slowly and methodically. His uniform jacket is hung up, trousers folded and placed in a laundry basket. He apparently believes in a place for everything, and everything in its place.

You are a regular slob, so married life could be a challenge. Perhaps an exciting one. If the Allegiant General will spank you for unauthorized masturbation, there is no telling what he’ll do to you for leaving your socks on the floor. Your breath hitches as you imagine several possibilities. 

Finally nude, he approaches you and tips you onto your back. You hiss as fabric meets sore bottom once again, arching up your hips. He pins you down by your shoulders and slowly pushes into your slack, sodden pussy. His length stretches and fills you, and his hips push you into the mattress with a warm afterburn of pain. He tweaks one nipple, then the next, finally pressing a rough kiss between your breasts.

You cant up to reduce the pressure on your ass and meet him, then when your poor sore muscles tire, you fall back down beneath him. It hurts, and it’s glorious. You see stars as a second orgasm slowly builds. He comes with a grunt, filling your already wet, messy hole with his spend. He reaches down to your clit, pinches then rubs. You throw your head back and sob as you come again, then lie back loose, exhausted, and used.

Your husband gets up and takes something out of a drawer. It is a small hand-towel. He dabs your sweaty brow with it, then blots your leaking cunt. When you are drier than you were, he kisses you firmly on the lips. You taste mint, strong liquor. You find yourself pushing back and deepening it, your arms around him. 

He goes to the ‘fresher and returns with a small bottle. You are spread out on your belly, and he rubs lotion into the flesh of your abused cheeks. When this task is done and you begin to feel the balm soothing your skin, he slips into bed with you and gathers you into a tight hold. 

“You took this so well. You were very good for me. I hope that I will not have cause to punish you often.”

You snort and rest your head against his shoulder. As you drift into sleep, you’re already imagining what you can do to make him punish you again. 

**Author's Note:**

> 2020 has been a wild year and it did weird things to my libido. This one is mostly Mallorn's fault; since I read her Pryde/Fem!reader insert fic I can't stop thinking about this evil, kinky old fucker.
> 
> Obligatory PSA that this is a self-indulgent sexual fantasy and not instructions on how to do kink.


End file.
